


Bloodied Books and Dead Does

by FriendlyCryptid



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 1930's, Blood, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Dark Material, Death Comes Knocking, Female Reader, Gen, Horror, Im warning you guys, Knives, Manipulation, Murder, Saws, This shit gets real dark, Torture, Very naive Reader, fluff..?, horror stories, i guess..?, killer, they hold hands and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21517765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCryptid/pseuds/FriendlyCryptid
Summary: You become aquainted with the infamous Charleston radio host.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Bloodied Books and Dead Does

**Author's Note:**

> A short little spin-off of my Death Comes Knocking fic, putting the reader in the shoes of a young woman who has a run-in with the radio host.
> 
> \---
> 
> On another note-  
> Thank you all so _so_ much for the wonderful feedback on my first fan fiction! I honestly did not expect this much praise, and I'm so glad you all enjoyed it! <3

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Sam crept cautiously down the staircase, wincing every time she moved down another step, anticipating the creaks and groans of the stairs that would give away her position to the intruder._

_She knew there was someone in her house. She had heard someone moving around downstairs, and she was not taking any chances in assuming it was just the house shifting. The wind was roaring outside and she could see shadows dancing across the shades on the windows, casted by the moonlight striking the trees in her backyard._

_She clutched the hammer tightly, her knuckles turning white as she neared the last step. She gritted her teeth and held her breath, peeking slowly around the bend of the stairwell and into the kitchen._

_Her breath hitched and she nearly slipped on the final step when she spotted a dark figure standing next to the kitchen counter, the tell-tell gleam of a knife glinted from the gloved hand that rested at their side._

_She quickly ducked back behind the wall of the stairwell, thanking God that their back had been turned. She hadn't seen their face, but they had been dressed in all black clothing, either here to rob her while she was sleeping, or worse..._

_Sam's mind raced. She could try and ambush them and attack with her hammer, or she could try and get to the front door perhaps...?  
Or maybe she could lure them away from the kitchen so she could try and call th-_

creak

_On the opposite side of the stairwell._

_Right behind her..._

"Good afternoon!"

You nearly toss the book in the air as the sudden voice jolts you from your reading.  
A very tall and alarmingly slim gentleman is standing a few feet away from the park bench you nearly jumped out of. His hand is raised slightly in greeting, and he has a very pleased look on his face.

You take a moment to adjust yourself, feeling your cheeks beginning to heat up in embarrasment as you quickly shut the book.

"OH! Terribly sorry my dear. Didn't mean to frighten you like that!" he said, a whisp of sympathy crossing his voice.

"No, it's quite alright! I... was a bit enveloped in my book, I should have been paying more attention." you say quickly, willing your cheeks to stop turning red.

"Ah, I know the feeling. To get lost in between this world, and the world of a book... It's like a portable getaway from real-life!" the man beams, glacing down at the book you currently hold in your lap.

"Ah! _The Murdermen_... I see you have good taste in horror stories!" 

This grabs your attention, and you immediately brighten up.

"You... know this book..?"

"Very well, my dear girl!"  
He coughs into his fist:

 _"The gruesome story of a young woman, tangled in a net of murders... Can she unravel the mystery of the identity of the killer? Or will she just be another tally on their bloody list..?"_ he says, impressively reciting the exact discription that was printed on the back of the book.

"I'm taking it that you've read this a few dozen times, then?" you ask, feeling the ghost of a smile appear on your face.

"Approximately, yes! Indeed I have!" he says triumphiantly, adjusting the snug-fitting bowtie nestled around his slender neck.

 _There was no way he was being serious._  
You scoff.

"You're joking." you say flatly.

"Are you laughing?" he replies, without missing a beat.

"....no..?"

"Then I'm not joking!" he beams, straightening his stance.

You furrow your brows.

...

"Hold on a second.." you challenge, as you quickly open the book and flip to a familiar page.

\---

You then proceed to quiz him on certain scenes in the book, and to your surprise, he nails every single question.  
He could even recite full paragraphs on a page, right down to the exact word, and you try desperately to hold back your sense of awe.

He hadn't been joking alright.

You had to admit, the man knew the book from cover to cover.

...

He was friendly enough, and a bit overboard charming, but you found yourself conversating with him.  
After a few more minutes of chatting, you even allow him to accompany you on the park bench.

You both introduce yourselves to one another, and he reveals that he is in fact, a book collector. He was especially fond of the horror and mystery genres, and exceptionally proud of the few he had managed to find.

This was incredibly intriguing, as you had only seen two or three horror books up for grabs at the local library and bookstore; both of which had been terribly expensive.

You explained your interest in horror, and how you felt everyone avoided reading it like it was some sort of cursed text.

You could not understand why people where driven away from it.

"They simply don't appreciate the art of the macabre my dear! People always flock towards the light, but there are far more interesting things hidden in the dark." he mused, crossing his legs.

_He's a poet too..?_

He absentmindedly reaches into his breastpocket and tugs out a small carton of Medina cigarettes, rolling one of them between his fingers before offering the carton to you.

You politely hold up your hand to decline.

He shrugs and stuffs it away, pulling out a thin matchstick beforehand and striking it against the armrest of the bench.  
A tiny spark flickers to life, and he cups it to the end of the cigarette in his mouth.

A sharp breeze suddenly cuts through the park, sending the trees rustling and a shiver to shoot up your spine.  
You notice with some amusement, that the lit matchstick immediately is blown out, although he doesn't look dissappointed in the slightest...

You glance to the sky.

In the distance, you can see dark clouds billowing up a storm.

You draw your coat tighter around your shoulders and glance at your wristwatch.

_Good heavens, it was getting close to 5 o'clock!_

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was getting. I really should get going.." you say hurriedly as you clutch your book close to your side and begin to stand from the bench.

"It was wonderful talking with you." you say, giving a soft smile.

"Any time miss!"  
He smiles brightly, giving a slight bow.

"I do hope we see each other again sometime. May you have a safe travel home!"

"Thank you!" you say as you give a small wave and turn to leave, walking briskly against the wind.

You could already feel the air getting humid as the clouds prepared to empty their buckets onto the city of Charleston. The wind had also become much more fierce, and you found that it was becoming difficult to breathe.. 

You hoped that you would at least be able to make it to some sort of shelter before the rain started coming down, but that hope began to diminish as the clouds raced towards the city.  
You felt a weight being dropped onto your shoulders as you realized you were probably going to get absolutely washed with rainwater by the time you got to your apartment flat...

Even if you ran, you were too far into the park to make it to the shelter of the city in time.

 _Of all the days you didn't have your umbrella on you, it just had to be today didn't it?_  
You mentally curse to yourself as you trudge along in the biting cold.

...

Just then.

You hear a familiar voice cut through the howling of the wind.

You pause, and look over your shoulder.

He's jogging swiftly back to you.

"Miss!-"  
He pauses to catch his breath.

"I daresay- you're not going to make it to the Northern side of the city in time if you head that way."

He gestures to the Western side of the park, the direction he had been heading.

"I know a quicker way into the city. It's- by far not the most scenic route, but it will get you there faster, if you wish to accompany me." he says, offering a hand to you.

You hesitate, sparing a quick glance at the sky.

You're definitely not making it...

Your turn to him and quickly nod, grasping his hand with yours as he leads you across the park, away from the oncoming dark clouds.

\---

You are both sprinting across the park.  
With the wind at your back now, it urges you onwards across the outstretch of grass. Your fingers clutch tightly around the book, thudding against your side beneath your coat as you run.

His grip on your hand remains gentle, but firm enough to pull you along with him. He glances back at you for a moment, and you catch the wide grin that he has not dropped since meeting you.

A barrage of thunder suddenly rolls across the sky, and he lets out a bark of laughter.  
"Hah HAH! Better pick up the pace! They've spotted us and started firing!" he jokes.

Despite yourself, you find yourself smiling.

The both of you reach the edge of the park just as the first raindrops begin to fall. You make a mad dash across the road, red car lights and horns blaring angrily as the two of you cut through the lazy traffic.

Your shoes thud on the wet pavement as the onslaught of water begins to crescendo, and you let out a startled shriek as you feel yourself get drenched.  
Almost as soon as it starts, it's like someone turns off the tap and the rain stops.

He has lead you around a street corner and into an alleyway, which is somehow dry as bone.  
You tuck your hair behind your ear and look upwards.

The entirety of the alleyway is covered by sheets of tin rooftop tiling, protecting you both from the rain.  
It drums soothingly on the tin, filling the alleyway with the sound.

"Damnit! Almost made it in time.." you hear him curse as he vainly tries to dry off his monacle with his soaking wet sleeve.

"Well...Thank you for trying." you say, as you pull the book out from under your coat to examine it.

There are a few dark circles on the cover where some stray raindrops managed to find their mark, but otherwise the pages are dry and undamaged.

"If it werent for you, I would be heading to the library tomorrow to pay for a damaged book.." you say, safely tucking it back under your arm beneath the coat.

"Not a problem, my dear! Although, I apologize for not keeping you out of the rain, as I had hoped." he says, eyeing your rain-soaked clothes and hair.

"Oh please.. If you hadn't come back, I would have been washed down a sewer drain by now." you say, a smile crossing your face.

"Really. Thank you."

His grin all but widens.  
"Think nothing of it, miss!"

\---

You stare at the sky for a moment.

The dark clouds seem to go on forever, and the rain continues to pour unrelentingly down upon Charleston.  
It seems that the storm will not be stopping anytime soon.

You sigh, hugging your arms around yourself.

He is currently leaning up against the wall of the alleyway, pulling out a now-soaked carton of cigarettes without a hint of disdain.

"I'm...not keeping you from anything, am I..? You've been awfully kind with keeping me company, I'd hate to impose.."

"Oh, not at all my dear girl! If anything, you've made my day far more interesting!" he says, tossing the soggy packet of cigars into the depths of a nearby dumpster.  
"Besides! I'd hate to leave a young belle like yourself to wander the streets this late, and during a storm no-less! It's dangerous business!"

He pauses a moment in thought, as a conclusion begins to form in his mind.

"Say.... I've got an apartment flat not three blocks from here. You are more than welcome to wait there until this dreadful storm blows over!"

You hesitate a moment, considering this generous offer.

You'd be able to dry yourself off. In a heated apartment. Perhaps even have a cup of coffee, if he was the charming gentleman he appeared to be.

You could get a cab afterwards, and be home by 8.

It all sounded very nice, and he clearly enjoyed your company.  
.... And you would admit, you very much enjoyed his.

However, there was that very small voice in your brain that doubted you:

_You didn't know this man, and he didn't know you. You hadn't met nearly five hours ago. He was nothing but a stranger to you._

But then another voice barged in:

_He had helped you._

All he was trying to do was help you.

He had shown nothing but kindness since meeting you at the park.

You couldn't judge him based on what he _could_ be, instead of what he clearly was to you:

A gentleman.

\---

The walk back to the apartment was surprisingly void of rainwater as he lead you confidently through the city.  
He was very much correct when he had said it wasn't the most scenic route, but you were out of the rain, and that was enough for you.

He mostly lead you down alleyways that were covered by tarps or tin to keep off the rain, and while it was darker than walking in the streets, you felt strangely secure with him leading you through the maze of brick and stone buildings.  
Of course, you weren't the only ones using the alleys as shelter from the rain. Beggars were huddled about in small clumps, in makeshift tents or gathered around small campfires to keep the chill at bay.

You were generally surprised that none of them jumped or harassed you on your way through.  
In fact, most of them tried to _avoid_ the two of you as you carried on your way.  
They cast down their eyes and shuffled closer to the alley's walls to make room.

It was strange..

Of course, he paid no mind to them as he led you along. His steps were sure and confident, barely giving a glance to the beggars as he carried on.

\---

You arrive at the apartment shortly afterwards.  
It's a quaint little building, not looking too fanciful, but also not being in shambles.  
You wonder what he does for a living that would allow him to live as comfortably as this.

There was no way he made enough money to pay for a place like this by just collecting and selling books? Right?

You make it a point to yourself to ask him during your stay here...

You both hurry up the stairs to the door, not wanting to become even more sopping wet than you already are. The ledge above the door offers some protection, but it's not much.

He turns the knob and swings open the door, gesturing for you to walk inside.  
"After you, my dear."

You smile politely and step through the door frame, into the building.

The sour smell of cleaning supplies hits your nose immediately and, while its not unpleasant, it definitely lingers on you.  
You are greeted with a short hallway in front of you, leading to the washrooms, a box telephone, and a side storage room.

Above you, you see the black-grate stairwell that leads upwards to the other floors.

The entire complex is dead silent.

He closes the door to the building, muffling the sound of the roar of rain outside.  
You can hear it drumming on the rooftop above.

"Ah, yes. Do try and ignore the smell. The maintinance woman here is bent on using bleach and nothing but bleach to clean the building."

"She does her job well, I'm guessing." you say, as you begin to walk towards the flight of stairs.

"Yes, well. Do prepare for it to get worse! Especially on my floor, she has a knack for cleaning the fourth the most, it seems."

\---

You both begin to ascend the stairs and, very quickly you pick up the ever-growing smell of bleach and cleaning chemicals.

By the time you reach the fourth floor, it is much stronger than when you first entered the building.  
You wonder how long he must have lived here before getting used to the smell.

He walks confidently up to the last door in the hall, the farthest away from the stairs and other rooms.

_It must be nice having that kind of privacy from the other apartment dwellers..._

Fishing a key out of his breastpocket, he unlocks the door, and swiftly swings it open for you.  
"Welcome to my humble abode!" he announces with a flourish.

Smiling at his little performance, you step inside the apartment flat...

It's extremely well-kept and clean, and the welcoming smell of coffee and cigarette smoke helps to drown out the overbearing scent of chemicals in the hallway.

You immediately see a recording studio, with an empty chair propped behind a microphone stand, and with a small desk filled with mechanisms and wires that you couldn't begin to understand.

_Ah! So he was a radio host._  
_That explained his income, then._

You also see a small lounging area off to the side, along with a large cabinet of books set against the wall.

You hear the apartment door quietly click shut behind you as you walk slowly towards the room.

The door is wide open, and you can clearly see the inscriptions of book titles lining the colorfully bound spines.  
"I had no idea you had this many books!" you exclaim as you poke your head into the room.

The cabinet is much larger than it seemed from far away, and it nearly covers the entire wall.

There are even more off to the side, stored away on a shelf next to a plush lounge chair.

There is a very impressive mount of a buck's head above the shelf, it's antlers catching the light of the desklamp in the room.

"Ah, yes. My... collection is always growing!" you hear him say from outside the room.

You crouch down to the shelf, reading the spines at eye-level:

_The Last Day_  
_Crimson Teeth_  
_Throw the Bones_

You assume they are horror stories by the look of their titles.  
Most of them sound unfamiliar to you, and you curiously pull one of them off the shelf, titled:

_Donner, Donner_

You flip the book over in your hand, noticing there is no description of what the contents are.

You head over to the desk, setting your own book down on its flat surface. You flip through the pages curiously.

"Do you mind if I read one of these...? They look..."

You spot diagrams and drawings of disembowled bodies.  
Corpses.

Diagrams explaining the separation of human limbs.

Instructions on how to butcher human beings.

How to _prepare_ them.

You feel your blood run cold.

"You're not reading horror stories, my dear girl."

His voice is dangerously close, and you feel your body stiffen.

"But... you will be living one soon."

You have no time to react before a sharp pain explodes from the back of your head, and your vision goes black.

\---

You can't move...  
Why can't you move..?

You feel your head roll to your shoulder, and the world spins.

Your hear something.

_click_  
_snap_

_click_

A humming noise fills your ears.

_crackle_

And then, a voice:

"Hello, hello! Thank you for tuning in to our weekly broadcast! I'm your Radio Host, as always, and for tonight's show, we have a very special guest accompanying me in my studio!"

You hear something being slid across the floor towards you.

"Say hello, darlin'!"

You remain quiet, trying to find the will to open your eyes.

What was happening..?  
Why couldn't you move your limbs?

What was in your mouth..?

"Aww. It seems our little doll here is a bit of a shy one! Don't worry folks, I'll have her screamin' her heart out by the end of the night!"

You find the mindset to tear your eyes open, and you're greeted with blinding white light from the overhead studio lamps.  
You immediately roll your head back down, away from the lights, and you see that you are bound in place.

Thin rope is tied around your wrists to the armrests of a studio chair.  
You begin to panic as reality sets in.

Your ankles are tied.  
Your midsection is being strained to the back of the chair, painfully restricted by the rope.

You try to breathe and supply your wildly beating heart with the oxygen it needs, but your mouth is gagged with cloth.

Small wimpers and cries start to come out of your mouth as you struggle against your bindings, but they are muffled by the gag.

"Ohoho! It seems the little lady has come to her senses!"

He is standing next to you, face close to the microphone stand, his thin fingers absentmindedly playing with its lengthy connection wiring.

You want to scream at him.  
Ask why.

Why is he doing this.  
You trusted him.  
You thought he was different.

Why?

Your lungs and throat are starting to burn as the tears start welling up in your eyes.  
You scream, but it's far too muffled by the gag to be heard outside of the flat.

"Well, ladies and gents! I do believe... It's high time our show began."

You keep screaming.

From behind the chair he rolls out a small serving table with wheels, now carrying knives and saws instead of the cakes and teacups it was meant to hold.

Without much thought, he picks up a simple butcher knife from the table.

You're still screaming.

His face flashes... 

You think its concern, but you can't tell.  
Your vision is starting to blur from your tears.

He turns to the desk behind him, and flips a switch.

Music begins to seethe out of the larger speakers:

_Hey! Hobo man_

_Hey, Dapper Dan,_

_You've both got your style, but brother_

_You're never Fully Dressed_

_Without a Smiiiile!!~_

He's suddenly crouched in front of you, gripping the knife.

His eyes are not the same, soft ones you saw at the park.

His smile is not the friendly, cheerful one that he's worn all this time.

His hands are not the same ones that guided you through the city.

You were looking at a madman.

_Scream._

-Is the one thing he says before he cuts your bare arm with the knife.

You do.  
And it splits your throat.

White hot pain courses up your arm, and you writhe against your bonds, your body trying to repel itself away from the agony radiating from the fresh wound.

The blood trickles down the length of your arm, sticky and warm, as it drips off the side of the chair's armrests and pools onto the floor.

Another slice of the knife.

You scream.

He suddenly leans forward to your wounded arm.

And draws his tongue across.

It makes you want to retch, and you screw your eyes shut.  
Your wound stings like Hell, and you grit your teeth in pain when he does it a second time.

...

_And then he bites your arm._

You let out another scream that rakes through your throat.

His one hand grips your arm, holding it in place while his teeth dig painfully into your flesh.

It's sickening...

The pain is unbearable.

You pass out.

\---

You don't survive the Radio Host.

He murders you, as he has done to countless other women and children, in the same chair, in the same circumstances.

He broadcasts your screams, your cries of pain.

He toys with you... Only cutting into you whenever you regain conciousness.

You did however, last much longer than he had expected....

...

The book you brought with you is simply added to his little "collection" in his study.  
Your coat and clothes, he burns in his furnace that heats his apartment.

Your body...?

He butchers in the apartment's washroom, and stores in the freezer in the kitchen.

To him, you were no more than another victim to add to the tally.

He as the hunter.

And you, as the doe.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


End file.
